


Captivated

by RainingPrince



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Awkward Sexual Situations, Aziraphale has dogs, Based on a True Story, Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationship, Everything is better after a cuppa tea, Fluff and Smut, Laughter, M/M, Morning Sex, Multiple Orgasms, No Plot/Plotless, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, PIV Sex, Penis Captivus, Playing House, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Secret Relationship, Service Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Sexual Humor, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Fingering, there's gotta be a better name for that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-31 21:00:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20121586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainingPrince/pseuds/RainingPrince
Summary: He thought to himself that this would be the longest the two of them had ever spent together. It almost felt like… playing house. A taste of a future where they could live together, away from the mess of their lives. The dream pulled Crowley down the street as if he were floating.He stopped around the corner, a matter of habit, and pulled out his phone to send a text. “I’m here, you alone?”The reply came in seconds. “Door’s unlocked.”Crowley smiled, and resumed walking.





	Captivated

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not really even sure why I wrote this but it was cathartic. I haven't written any smut in years, bear with me.
> 
> ~I just found out this is the only fic on this entire site with the tag Penis Captivus and I'm both proud and very surprised.
> 
> September 5th: I just went back through and made some minor changes. The story still the same, I just wanted to tweak some things and fix some grammar.

Crowley didn’t have a worry in the world.

He was very excited about not just one, but two very lovely things, and he couldn’t help but smile as he sat on the bus.

The first, it was his birthday. Truthfully, the official date had been two days ago, but he was a firm believer in an axiom he had overheard at a party some years prior. It went a little something like “Whatever the number of your birthday, that’s the number of days you celebrate.” For example, when you turn twenty one, as Crowley just had, you spend that and the next twenty days celebrating. He thought this was a lovely idea. Frankly the older you got the more impressive, and the more you deserve to party about it. He still had 19 days left to go, and he had such plans for them.

Part of those plans included the second exciting thing: He was on his way to Aziraphale’s house.

Aziraphale’s mother was no stranger to travel, she took off all the time on various business trips and would often be gone for a day or two. However, this time she was gone for an entire week, along with all of his siblings. Aziraphale had only been left behind because the dog sitter had ducked out last minute. It was a rare event, in fact this was the first time this had ever happened at all, and Crowley fully intended to make the most of it.

As the bus came to a stop, and the redhead got off, he began to walk down the street with a bounce in his step. He smiled at the memory of a particularly sunny day when the two had gone to a festival and shared a bag of candy floss by the river.

They had been dating for a couple years now, a beautiful two years populated with walks in the park and stolen kisses, picnics and parties and many other lovely things. It was, unfortunately, a relationship held in secret. Aziraphale’s mother couldn’t know for reasons best left unsaid, and Crowley would do anything to keep his relationship safe from his family's prying eyes. But it was still something that made him happy.

He thought to himself that this would be the longest the two of them had ever spent together. It almost felt like… playing house. A taste of a future where they could live together, away from the mess of their lives. The dream pulled Crowley down the street as if he were floating.

He stopped around the corner, a matter of habit, and pulled out his phone to send a text. “I’m here, you alone?”

The reply came in seconds. “Door’s unlocked.”

Crowley smiled, and resumed walking.

The moment he got inside the dogs were barking and he laughed. He locked the door and dropped his backpack on the couch, then turned back to the very excited puppies who were jumping up his legs. “Hello! I haven’t seen you two in a while!” He gave them each a good scratching behind the ears as they slobbered on his jeans.

“I’ll be out in just a second!” He heard Aziraphale call from the other room, “I’m making pasta!”

Crowley didn’t want to wait 'just a second'. He stood up, and walked into the kitchen with the dogs following excitedly.

Aziraphale was just finishing pouring the pasta into a strainer when he looked up and saw Crowley, and the way his face lit up stirred something deep in the redhead’s chest.

“Hello, my dear.” The blond said, his voice was smooth as caramel and just as inviting. He put the now empty pot down and rested against the nearest counter. “Come on then,” He said, and Crowley didn’t need any more invitation than that.

He stepped forward, placing his hands on the other’s face, and kissed him. He tried desperately to communicate through touch all the things he had been thinking about on his way here, and he was more than pleased when the other was just as enthusiastically responding. A flick of the tongue against his lower lip made his knees feel weak.

They stayed there for a few minutes, desperate kisses slowly giving way to passionate, lazy smooches.

Crowley’s stomach growled, and he pulled away from the kiss.

“I haven’t eaten anything yet today,” Crowley realized, his face falling slack. “Oh and that bloody long bus ride, I knew something felt off.”

Aziraphale laughed. “Then it’s a good thing the pasta’s ready. Though you’ll have to wait while I heat up the sauce, shouldn’t be a minute.”

“I’ll go take my shoes off,” Crowley said.

“Good idea,” the blond kissed his nose.

* * *

Dinner was eaten in the living room, over a lively debate regarding the nature of snails versus slugs, a horrifying and terribly rendered sketch of a snail with hands born of joke*, and an episode of a television program neither could really remember the name of. They had picked it out because of a promising summary about pirates, but not a quarter of the way through they got distracted when a hand on a thigh had lingered a little longer than expected.

Their empty bowls were abandoned on the table as they stumbled down the hallway and into the bedroom.

[*: Crowley, being the artist between them, had thought it a wonderful idea, and changed his mind halfway through drawing it. However, he had started this cursed endeavor and by jove he was going to carry through to its completion]

* * *

When Crowley woke up, the first thing he noticed was that his entire body ached. But it was a really good ache.

With a smile, he recalled the breathless whispers, endless kisses, and hands on his ass. His hair was no longer damp after the shower they’d had the night before, it felt soft and luxurious as did his skin. He turned his head to look behind him, and saw Aziraphale’s face, slack and peaceful. And he thought to himself “Morning sex.”

Gently, he rolled over, and began to poke and prod. He kissed his partner’s face, and whispered “Hey, Angel. Wake up.”

Aziraphale’s eyes slid open lazily, and his smile made Crowley’s insides melt into a puddle of rhapsodic goo. “Good morning, dear. Were you kissing my nose?”

“I’d like to kiss more than that.”

“Then do so,” he invited, rolling onto his back and reaching out to pull Crowley closer.

Crowley stretched out his legs briefly, and then settled on top of Aziraphale. He was delighted both that they were both still naked from the night before, and to discover that the man below him was already hard. He raised an eyebrow. “Morning wood,” the blond said, “Might as well make use of it.”

The redhead laughed, and leaned down to kiss him. They were long, luxurious kisses, and their hips rolled just as slowly, and it was an absolutely marvelous sensation.

Aziraphale suddenly stiffened underneath Crowley, and pulled away from the kiss. “Get a condom, _now_.”

Happy to oblige, the skinny redhead reached over the side of the bed and pulled a handful of condoms out of the bedside drawer. He ripped one open at the end, handing it to Aziraphale with glee, who slipped it on with trembling hands. Gently, Crowley used one hand to steady himself against the mattress, and the other to guide Aziraphale into his waiting cunt. They both shuddered as just the tip entered, pausing to let the moment sink in, and then the man on top rolled his hips down and both of them let out a strangled moan.

They tried their hardest to draw it out, maintaining a slow, controlled, agonizing pace. Aziraphale’s hands on Crowley’s hips were sturdy and desperate, and they were both breathing hard. Aziraphale came with a shudder, and his hands clamped down so tightly that Crowley cried out in shock. They sat quietly for a minute, still connected, and tried to catch their breath.

“Whoah,” Aziraphale finally said, “That was something.”

“So eloquent,” the man on top teased. “Truly inspiring.”

“Give me five minutes and I’ll be far more eloquent, I promise.”

“You have something in mind?” Crowley asked, sitting up and surveying their interlocking bodies. He slowly pulled himself off, and rolled the condom off after.

“I was rather hoping to eat you out,” Aziraphale said. “Let you come this time.”

Crowley blushed and paused with his hand over the wastebasket. “Seriously?” He asked. “You never eat me out.”

“What can I say, I’m in the mood. Is that of interest?”

“Definitely.” Crowley dropped the condom and turned back around.

Aziraphale sat up, and held out his arms. “Kiss me again.”

Crowley obliged, he could never say no to kisses. He straddled Aziraphale again, their arms locked around each other, and they whispered sweet nothings against each other’s lips.

After a few minutes, Aziraphale pulled one of his arms away, and Crowley almost thought he was done, but that hand never left his skin. It traveled slowly, teasingly, carefully over his lower back, across his ass, and over his hip.

_ Oh. _

The hand slid gently down to the inside of Crowley’s thigh.

Crowley had to pull his mouth away, leaning his head back to remember to breathe as that hand quickly became the only thing that mattered. Aziraphale kept kissing Crowley’s collarbone, kissing his neck, his shoulder, his jaw. Anywhere he could reach he kept kissing.

The hand stayed put, stroking gently over highly sensitive skin for several very distracting moments, before Aziraphale spoke against his collarbone. “Can I touch you?”

“Go for it,” Crowley’s voice was rough, and he swallowed thickly.

Slowly, ever so slowly, that hand slid further. It was a little ticklish, but that wasn’t what was important right now, because it didn’t take long to reach its destination.

Gently, Aziraphale readjusted his wrist, and cupped Crowley’s cunt in his palm. The sudden encompassing warmth made the redhead gasp, and he shivered. The hand began to move.

Ever so gently, Aziraphale began to press his palm rhythmically into Crowley, creating pressure, and eliciting such delicious moans. Switching it up a bit, he slipped one finger further than the rest, teasing at the lower edge of the slit and earning an interested noise from above. He began to use his fingers more than his palm, lightly dragging them across the labia, pushing them open and teasing around the very edges. His thumb found its way to Crowley’s clit, and he just held it there, a solid pressure, creating friction as the rest of his fingers moved elsewhere.

This was clearly working. Crowley’s knees were trembling, and he bit back a high keen to preserve some of the pressure building up in his pelvis. The next cry was not so easily quelled, and the one after that ripped from his throat with reckless abandon, a desperate prayer for more.

The fluids were building up, and Aziraphale made use of it quite efficiently. He kept his stroking consistent, his other hand on Crowley’s lower back, keeping the redhead upright as trembling hands gripped his shoulders. The cries were getting louder, and Aziraphale could almost imagine brightly colored phantasms, pouring from his lover’s mouth and gathering on the ceiling, daring the neighbors to complain about the noise.

Crowley was suddenly silent, his throat caught on the last cry, and he came in Aziraphale’s hand. It took several seconds, and then he collapsed into the blond’s lap, shivering.

Aziraphale smiled, waited a few seconds for the other to catch his breath, and then asked “You done?”

Crowley looked down at him, a little shocked, and was about to say yes when he recognized the look on the other’s face. He knew that smirk, it usually meant really good things. Crowley shook his head cautiously. “What did you have in mind?”

“Didn’t I say I’d eat you out?”

Crowley blinked at him, his face flushed and sweaty, and bit his lip.

“Lay down, let’s get a pillow.” Aziraphale said, and he gently pushed the trembling man off his lap. The two of them readjusted, and propped Crowley up with several pillows. Aziraphale sat down cross-legged between his legs, and got back to work.

He didn’t waste any time, beginning with a long, wide lick from bottom to top, and from there eagerly began to lap up the juices left from the previous orgasm. The noises came back, guttural gasps and wretched sobs, Crowley’s hips bucking, rolling down to find more pressure, more texture, _more anything_.

When Aziraphale paused to say “I’m gonna finger fuck you.” it was simultaneously the sexiest and most infuriating thing he had ever done, and Crowley had literally growled at him.

“Do whatever you want just don’t stop.” It was a miracle he’d been coherent enough to say as much. But that coherency was gone, out the window just seconds later as Aziraphale did indeed slip a finger into Crowley’s cunt and it was all a blur from there.

A second finger was added, carefully brushing that sensitive, sponge-like spot just at the front of the vaginal wall. Aziraphale hadn’t stopped using his mouth either, oh no. He was diligently keeping up his own rhythm, licking long, eager strokes wherever he could reach, and then sucking gently at Crowley’s clit, fully engorged and reveling in the attention.

It was all too much, and not enough simultaneously. Crowley was sobbing openly, his hips bucking and every muscle trembling, pulling taught, a white-hot ball of tension building up, up, up--

A strangled gasp left the redheads lips and he struggled to breathe as the ripples of a second release tore violently through his body. All of Crowley’s muscles, every single one of them, was _singing_.

Aziraphale sat in awe. He watched his partner twitch and squirm, eyes rolled back to whites and mouth gasping for air. He was almost ready to worry when he finally saw the signs of relaxation, the movements began to slow, and Crowley finally took a long, soothing breath.

There was silence for what felt like hours.

Eventually, through the fog of his post-orgasm brain, Crowley noticed that Aziraphale’s hand hadn’t left his cunt, and Aziraphale was looking at him sheepishly. “What are you doing?” It came out a croak.

“Well, my dear, and please don’t panic when I say this but uhm…” Aziraphale bit his lip, trying to figure out exactly HOW to say this, “I’m stuck.”

Crowley blinked. “What?” He asked, obtusely.

“My fingers are stuck. You’re… you’re not letting go.”

The two of them looked at each other in awkward silence. “You’re serious?”

Gently, Aziraphale tried to pull his fingers free, and Crowley could tell he wasn’t having much luck. It was the strangest feeling. “Apparently so,” the blond looked fascinated.

“I… Holy fuck.” Crowley’s face, which had previously been fading from the red of his orgasm, flushed again. This time in horror. “Holy fuck!”

Aziraphale didn’t look as worried, in fact, he looked about ready to smile. “I thought it was a myth.” He said, absent-mindedly.

“A myth?!” Crowley gawked, quickly turning to panic. “You’ve heard of this before?”

“I mean, you hear things don’t you? Stories and anecdotes and suchlike.”

“What if this doesn’t stop? What if we have to call for an ambulance? Holy shit.” The redhead covered his face in his hands. Then, deciding that wasn’t enough, grabbed the nearest pillow and shoved his face into it. “Kill me now. Whoever’s listening, kill me now.” He prayed.

“We’ll give it a few minutes, let’s say ten, and if it hasn’t stopped we’ll call for help.” Aziraphale said calmly.

Crowley growled loudly, threw the pillow off, then reached over to the bedside table to retrieve his phone. He swiped the lockscreen away, opened a browser, and began to type furiously into the search bar.

“What are you doing?” Aziraphale asked.

“Looking for a way to fix this.” Crowley snapped. He typed in the first thing he could think of.

⇒ “Fingers stuck in vagina” The results were not exciting; mostly stuff about tampons, and one piece about someone not being able to insert anything in the first place. Unhelpful. He tried again.

⇒ “My boyfriend can’t pull his fingers out” The results were mostly about relationships. Also unhelpful.

“Any luck?” Aziraphale still looked much more comfortable than Crowley thought he had any right to.

“It’s all rubbish.” Crowley griped, wracking his brain for another way to phrase his enquiry. “Suggestions?”

“Stuck together during sex?” Aziraphale offered.

⇒ “Stuck together during sex” Crowley typed. Finally, something looked promising. He tapped on a Wikipedia article and frowned.

“Penis Captivus? That’s the stupidest name I’ve ever heard.”

Aziraphale’s head fell back and he laughed out loud. “It’s quite apt though,” he managed to wheeze.

“Shut up!” Crowley begged, wanting to smack him. “This is mortifying! I am mortified! I have never _been_ so mortified!”

“You’ve nothing to worry about, darling.” Aziraphale soothed, rubbing his free hand on Crowley’s thigh. “It’s probably fine. Look, what does it say about how long it lasts?”

Crowley turned his attention back to the article and continued reading. “Usually a few minutes, it should be over on its own.”

He could hear chuckling again and looked up from his phone.

“What?” Crowley asked, a little scathingly.

“Nothing, nothing.” Aziraphale’s eyes twinkled and he stifled another giggle.

“Tell me.”

“You’re not going to like it.” The blond said, matter-of-factly.

“Just spit it out.”

“It’s just that, my dear you seem quite adept at finding new and interesting ways to captivate me.”

The redhead stared at him for a solid five seconds. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Oh come on, it’s funny.” The blond said, the giggles finally spilling over.

“S’not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.”

“Aauuurrgghhhh!!!” Crowley dropped his phone back on the bedside table and picked the pillow up again. “I can’t fucking believe this.”

“Just relax, Crowley. Let yourself relax, that should help.” Aziraphale’s hand on his hip was grounding, and the soothing tone of the blond’s voice did help. Just a little. “Let’s not panic, alright love?”

Crowley sighed. “Fine.”

Aziraphale readjusted his legs beneath him, and pressed a gentle kiss to Crowley’s knee. They sat in silence for a little while longer.

“Alright fine, it was a little funny.” Crowley relented.

Aziraphale burst into laughter again, and Crowley hated that he started to laugh as well. It was the most bizarre sensation, laughing with fingers up your fanny. It just made the situation all the more ridiculous.

Finally, after seven whole, agonizing minutes, Aziraphale felt the pressure release, and he pulled his fingers free.

Immediately, Crowley’s legs snapped shut, and he rolled onto his side to curl up around his pillow.

Aziraphale shook out his hand, and began to stretch his fingers. When he was satisfied that his newly recovered digits were unharmed, he patted Crowley’s leg. “Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine just, gimme a minute.” Crowley mumbled.

“Alright then. I’ll go make us some tea,” The blond got up, pulled on a pair of pants and a shirt, and left the room.

* * *

While Aziraphale was in the kitchen, he heard shuffling feet move down the hallway, and the television set turn on. After he put the kettle on, he brought the tea and mugs into the living room and set them down.

Crowley was curled up on the couch, flicking through channels at breakneck speed. He was wearing a very large sweatshirt, pulled over his knees, and Aziraphale could see black shorts peeking out from underneath.

He said nothing, returning to the kitchen to watch over the heating water.

When he returns, Crowley seems to have decided on a documentary about dogs. Aziraphale’s dogs were sitting not far away, their attention also on the television. It was quite a sight, the blond thought, as he prepared the tea, and set the kettle on the trivet.

He handed the first mug to Crowley, who took it carefully in his hands and just stared at it.

Aziraphale took his own mug, and nestled into the couch on the other end. Close enough for comfort, but far enough to be respectful. He waited for the other to be ready to talk.

After several minutes, Crowley said “I’m okay, just… I don’t even know what I am.”

“Are you alright, physically?” Aziraphale asked. “I don’t recall that ever happening before.”

Crowley flushed, and ducked his face into the sweatshirt. “Yeah I’m fine. Better than fine, actually I feel fantastic.”

“You were incredible.” Aziraphale said, a little reverently. The redhead looked up at him, a question on his face. “When you came. It looked incredible.”

“It was.. incredible.”

“Then why were you so upset?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley bit his lip, his brows furrowed and he thought for a moment. “I guess I was a little overwhelmed.”

“A little?”

“Okay, a lot overwhelmed. Overstimulated. I panicked.”

“Feeling better now?”

Crowley took a sip of his tea and then set it down. “Much.” He finally let his legs out of the sweatshirt*, and settled back on the couch. 

Aziraphale smiled warmly, readjusted in his seat, and patted his lap. “Come, dear. Put your head here.”

Feigning annoyance, Crowley complied, sighing “Ugh, fine.” as he scooted across the couch and rested his head on the other’s lap. He placed one foot on the floor, and stretched the other across the couch to rest on the far arm.

“Can we watch Golden Girls?” Aziraphale asked, and Crowley perked right up.

“Absolutely.” He said, and reached for the remote.

[*: How he got his lanky knees into that thing in the first place, Aziraphale would never know]

**Author's Note:**

> Yes this is based on a True Story, yes it happens, here's the wikipedia article for [Penis Captivus](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Penis_captivus)  
Also yes, the drawing of the [snails with hands](https://narcissisticspaghetti.tumblr.com/post/186936542195/snands-snails-with-hands-do-not-repost) exists.


End file.
